


Daily Dose of Patrick Hockstetter

by crystalpistols



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, Gender Neutral, IT - Freeform, IT 2017 - Freeform, IT fanfic, IT fiction, IT imagine, M/M, Reader Insert, Self Insert, Stephen King's IT - Freeform, crystalpistols, gender specific, it fanfiction, patrick hockstetter fanfic, patrick hockstetter fanfiction, patrick hockstetter fic, patrick hockstetter imagine, patrick hockstetter x reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 04:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21368437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalpistols/pseuds/crystalpistols
Summary: You're going to summer camp with Patrick, who sneaks into the girls' dorm at night to sleep with you.
Relationships: Patrick Hockstetter/Original Character(s), Patrick Hockstetter/Original Female Character(s), Patrick Hockstetter/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 88





	1. Summer Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're going to summer camp with Patrick, who sneaks into the girls' cabin at night to sleep with you.

Patrick was probably the most clumsy stealth artist ever, but he made it work. After prying open the window nearest to your bunk with his pocket knife, he slid through silently, closing the window behind him before walking over to you on long, spindly legs.

He’d always watch you for a moment, admire the way the shadows contoured your features. The moon always highlighted your beauty in a way that the sun just could never capture. He loved seeing you at night.

Patrick knelt down, sliding his boots off and shoving them under the bed, eyes unblinking and unmoving. Your face was so fucking pretty when your eyes were shut, he could watch you sleep forever, which to anyone else would have been about as fun as watching paint dry.

The brunette shrugged off his over shirt and leaned above you, shadow cloaking you entirely. His cold hand covered your mouth as he slid in beside you, “It’s me.”

You instantly ceased your struggle, head falling back into the pillow with relief.

Pulling his hand away, you pinched him aggressively, “Stop doing that!” You hissed quietly, and Patrick’s hand flew back to your face.

“Shut up,” he wiggled for a moment before settling in with you, “and roll over.”

Brows rising, you smirked, “Sure, whatever, just be gone before the sun comes up.”

You’d never admit it, but you loved the way Patrick’s body just completely swallowed yours, arms caging you in. “Nice and tight.” His forearm pressed against your neck briefly and Patrick chortled, nose pressing into your hair.

He let out a long sigh and his breath travelled down your scalp and to your neck. The hair on your arms stood up and you shifted, pressing back into the teen, who didn’t react, but his grip tightened around your waist like an anaconda constricting it’s prey.

The whole camp woke to the sound of about thirty girls screaming in unison at the sight of a boy in their cabin the next morning.


	2. Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You take a nap in the back seat of Belch's car while the boys terrorise Derry.

The leather of this car was the most enticing thing in the world. It was soft, it was cool to the touch, and best of all it smelled of the boys. That smell was home to you. This car was home to you.

So you’d take a snooze in it almost daily while the gang drove around and messed with people. Although you’d take part in this activity often, school took it out of you and you wanted to nap.

Patrick sat in the back seat with his upper body practically hanging out the window, unconcerned by the mud being smeared on his jeans by your raggy old shoes.

While the car belonged to Belch, Henry was always the driver. He’d check you out in the rear-view mirror, taking sharp turns on purpose to wake you up. “Sorry, Y/N.”

You squinted and sat up, hair stuck to your face with drool. “No, you’re not, Bowers.” The teen laughed and shook his head, “No, no, I’m really not.” Another sharp turn and Patrick nearly went head first onto the pavement. “Jesus!”

Belch snorted from the passenger seat, reaching up and adjusting his cap to block the sunlight. It was so fucking bright. You reached into your backpack and pulled out Vic’s shades, smirking. He wasn’t here to witness you plucking out a precious item he’d been searching all over for.

“You dirty little thief.” Patrick licked his lips and smiled at you, “Don’t snitch.” You responded bluntly, sliding the sunglasses on and laying back down. You felt Patrick’s hand on your ankle but said nothing, feeling generous today.

Belch turned in his seat and smiled at the sight of you, “Just take ‘em off before we pick Vic up later.”

You felt guilty for a moment, you did love Vic, but you reasoned with yourself to avoid the remorse for snagging something from a friend. You’d give them back, eventually.

Closing your eyes, you listened to the sounds of blowing winds, trashy music and nonstop banter. It seduced you like a lullaby would an exhausted child.

You fell asleep again. Thank God Belch plucked the glasses from your face as Vic hopped in the car that evening.


	3. Like You Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're a part of Bowers' gang, but constantly getting into brawls with Patrick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: course language, violence and moderate sexual themes.

Every time you saw his stupid, ugly horse face you wanted to fucking punch it. His annoying, nasally voice made you want to rip his voice box out. His weird, lanky limbs made you want to trip him. Basically, Patrick couldn’t do a single thing without it getting under your skin.

And he knew it.

You leaned against a wall by the back of the school with Henry, sharing a fag together. You chatted softly, looking around the corner for teachers or students every so often, it was going pretty well - a good smoke break.

Then Patrick had to show up and ruin it with his uninvited entrance. You could fucking sense him from a mile away and for whatever reason, he was always no longer than that. Patrick Hockstetter was the bane of your god damn existence.

He smirked his stupid crooked smirk the moment he rounded the corner and caught the two of you sharing a cigarette. “Hey, Hockstetter. Skippin’ class?” Henry inquired, not bothering to look at his friend. He was busy watching cars pass in the streets.

“Chem is for faggots.” Patrick shrugged and snagged the fag from Henry’s parted lips. The two shared some macho moment before Henry decided to let it slip, his tense shoulders slacking.

“I gotta get back,” Bowers side-eyed you, gauging your reaction. Everyone knew never to leave Patrick and Y/N alone together, that’d be asking for a fucking storm. You contemplated joining him but looked to Patrick again, or more so at your cigarette in his mouth. You’d barely had any time to actually smoke.

“I’ll just chill here ‘til next period.” You decided, making an internal decision to ignore Patrick the moment Henry left, but why mention that? Henry nodded slowly, brows low on his face. “Meet you guys at Vic’s locker after class.”

You and Patrick watched Henry turn the corner and disappear with a scrappy text book in his hand and immediately began regretting your decision the moment Patrick’s eyes turned back to you.

“So,” he began, “you and Bowers, huh?” Oh my god, shut the fuck up. “Fuckin’ what?” You snapped, that ‘internal decision’ gone in a flash.

Patrick stepped closer, leaning his elbow against the brick wall, placing your cigarette to his slimy lips again. You reached forward and slapped it clean from his face and stepped on it aggressively. “I don’t remember saying you could smoke my darts.”

Patrick’s face dropped and his hand instantly shot up to wrap around your throat, then your world started to spin. You were on the ground in a second with a cigarette butt to your face, Patrick crushing your body with his.

The creep didn’t even say anything, just inched it closer and closer until he heard a whimper.

“You’re all talk.” He took a handful of your hair and rubbed your face into the concrete. “You’re a fuckin’ pussy.”

You felt glass shards against your face and let out a horrible shriek, “Get offa me, you rodent!”

Patrick made the mistake of pulling your head from the ground to take a look at his handiwork and that was all you needed. You pushed yourself up off the ground - with Patrick still on your back.

He was tall, but he was fuckin’ skinny and you were counting on that. Once standing upright, you felt the doubled weight pulling you backward and you just went with the flow, slamming Patrick into the wall behind you both.

Patrick groaned and his grip in your hair tightened, yanking your head violently. Without thinking, you reached around and grabbed him hard, squeezing with as much force as possible and hoping for the best. It worked. Patrick damn near cried and threw you off of him with a strength you didn’t know he had.

“What the fuck!” He clutched his crotch and moaned, face twisted into a horrible grimace. “You fucking broke my dick!”

You wiped your lip and noted the crimson on the back of your hand. You were bleeding. “Fuck you.”

Patrick panted, head bowed as he cautiously massaged his damaged goods. “Fuck you, Y/N.”

You grabbed your backpack and made a break for it but it didn’t take five seconds for Patrick to start his pursuit. You could hear the hard slam of his boots against concrete. Fuck, fuck - you looked back just in time to see Patrick lunge at you.

The wind was knocked clean out of you the second he tackled you and so, you couldn’t even scream. Another spin of colours and you were on the ground again, but this time, completely pinned. It took a moment for your vision to adjust and when it did, you kind of wished it hadn’t.

Patrick’s hair was a mess and his eyes were wide with rage, his upper lip curled into a snarl but quivered uncontrollably, just like the rest of him. You struggled but it didn’t last, Patrick pressed himself flush against you and you cringed at the smell of his breath.

The fear was starting to really set in and for the first time in ages, Patrick was about to really, really fucking hurt you. He let go of you with his left hand, but only to bring it down on your face.

Your ears began to ring and your head hit the ground again, but Patrick didn’t let up. He punched you and then grabbed the front of your shirt, sitting up and pulling you with him. He straddled you and reeled back, only to quickly change his mind at the last second and punch you in the gut.

You coughed and tensed, pain overwhelming. Patrick didn’t give you any time to recover, but in a sick, twisted way, changed his tactic. His blood-covered fist flattened out and Patrick grinned before the back of his hand struck your cheek.

The sting was it for you and you started to cry. Your fingers wrapped around his arm weakly in a vain attempt to resist the assault, every move felt heavy and burdensome. After a few more slaps, your face felt numb and you began to protest less.

Patrick decided that was the time to switch things up and give the other side of your face a thrashing. By the end of it, you were a bloody, red mess on the ground. Blood stained your face and plain white tee, your jeans were torn at the knees and somehow you were missing a shoe.

Patrick dropped you but didn’t stand up, instead he decided to watch you for a minute. He watched your chest rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths. Your arms were above your head right where he’d left them and then there was your face.

The teen was thrilled, teeth gritting at the sight of you. Your nose was bloody but definitely not broken, your bottom lip was busted open and your face was already starting to bruise. He’d done a fucking number on you.

Then, an idea crept into Patrick’s mind, an idea that would never have been given the spotlight any other day.

You felt Patrick’s hand slide behind your head and you braced for another blow, pain shooting across your face when you flinched weakly. You didn’t really question why Patrick cupped your head rather than grab your hair but when your eyes opened slowly to investigate you knew something was off.

Patrick pulled you in close and pushed his face into your hair, taking a long whiff. He was smelling you.

“Sto-op..” His spindly fingers brushed stray locks away and you shivered at the tickle, and then his hand slipped from the back of your head to your neck and then he did the unfathomable.

“Patrick!” Adrenaline kicked in and your eyes shot wide open, completely aware now. “Stop it!”

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my fucking god. Patrick’s tongue traced the blood that had travelled from your face and down your neck and despite yourself, you moaned.

Patrick hummed, grinding down on you and pressing his teeth against your flesh.

“You stop it.” He finally responded, his free hand taking one of yours and guiding it up the front of his undershirt. “Stop it, Y/N. Please. I’m a virgin.” He mocked, voice trembling.

You were getting whiplash from Patrick’s complete 180, he was fucking mental. He beat the living shit out of you and now he wanted to get with you? This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t be.

You’d mouthed off countless times to Patrick over the years and always paid the price, but not once had Patrick ever, ever done anything like this. You didn’t even know the psycho was capable of intimacy at all. But was that even what this was?

It was twisted, but when your fingers traced a dip in Patrick’s hip and goosebumps erupted across his pale skin, you appreciated how soft it was. A single finger dipped beneath his belt and the band of his jeans and your entire being heated at the reaction fed to you.

Patrick’s eyes instantly closed and his lips parted, tongue darting in and out of his mouth like a reptile. He dropped your head in pursuit of his buckle, lips on you again. You were beginning to enjoy things so much, you didn’t realise how fast the pace was going until Patrick was tearing his belt off and tossing it aside.

The next few moments are what sobered you up completely. Patrick popped the button of his jeans and exposed himself to you, tall and proud.

Nuh-uh. Nope. No.

You sat up and Patrick smiled, misunderstanding your intention completely, and began to slowly circle his hips. “Even with brain damage, I’m not gonna fuckin’ touch your needle dick, Hockstetter.”

The raven-haired teen laughed and you turned away, briefly catching a glimpse of him again. “I mean, I think you should..”

Every single emotion or sensation that didn’t align with the rage you felt then was eradicated from the front of your mind and you clenched your jaw painfully tight. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

Patrick pulled a face at you, “I’d like you better.”


End file.
